


Circumstances

by narsus



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aircraft Development, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Responsibility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under certain circumstances, of course, Martin would have to resign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure belongs to John Finnemore and BBC Radio 4.

The shine of the brochures sitting on the table is the first thing to catch Martin’s eye in the morning. He has no idea what Carolyn would be doing with information about the new Airbus ACJ318 but it’s still enough to make him grimace. The thought of a glass cockpit and a sidestick, fly-by-wire, system terrifies him. Checks and failsafes be damned, he’d feel no more safe with a setup like that, than he would in a microlight. He has very little faith in electronics at the best of times so in a plane, one that he was captaining, he’d consider it tantamount to suicide. Of course Douglas finds the entire idea _innovative_ and seems particularly enthralled with the idea of sidestick controls.

“It’s the way of the future.”  
“Bollocks. What if you lean on the priority button by mistake? What if you have a major electrical fault? What if-“  
“Martin, calm down. Nobody’s ever going to make you fly an Airbus.”  
“Well. Well, I should bloody well hope not. I’m a pilot not an electrician!”  
“And there’s a multimeter somewhere in the River Avon to prove that.”  
“Douglas!”  
“Besides, glorious old sky-gods, like myself, never, ever, take electricians out to dinner. Flight crew on the other hand…”

When it really comes down to it Martin likes the surety of mechanical systems. There’s engineering and ergonomics behind that sort of thing. Men and women have put together mechanisms and systems that form sensible hierarchies when it comes to form and function. An electrical spark or a fuse blowing can’t down planes like that. They’re sturdy. Built on sensible, traditional, efficient, manufacturing principles. The production plant where most of the Spitfires were built may be gone, along with the aerodrome, but that site now manufactures cars, based on those same engineering principles. Sometimes, Martin fancies, that if he hadn’t become a pilot he might have liked to have become an engineer.

“Electrical systems are the future. Mark my words.”  
“Bullshit.”  
“You’re awfully sweary today, Martin. Is there something you want to tell me about?”  
“Like what?”  
“Oh, I don’t know. Helena used to get awful brusque with me about once a month.”  
“Really?”  
“Mmm. And then she’d sleep it off for about three days after.”

In retrospect, Martin can tell that there’d been a joke in there, at his expense. Not that he can entirely put his finger on it, and every time he thinks he has it narrowed down the thought seems to slip his mind again. Not that he really considers a smattering of light profanities all that much to write home about. Douglas hasn’t yet heard him on a truly bad day, when dejection gives way to anger, and he uses the word ‘fuck’ like its punctuation. His personal best is about thirteen times in one tirade.

The glint of sunlight off the brochures pull him out of that particular memory. It’s possible, of course, that Carolyn might be the sort of person to keep up with the latest advances in civil aviation, but this is Carolyn, a woman who buys cheap pilots uniforms from fancy dress shops. The two, somewhat separate, thoughts circle each other in Martin’s head. Somehow he’s making a connection, spurious thought it might be, and he has a feeling that he’s not going to like it. Carolyn has been a little flush lately with all the new business coming in all of a sudden. Quite where the business is coming from is beyond Martin. They’ve been booked up almost constantly of late, for a variety of different routes, demographics and numbers. There’s no real connection between all the people hiring them that he can ascertain.

Normally, too much flying, if there ever really was such a thing, would cause him trouble financially but Carolyn has actually started paying him recently. It’s all cash in hand, non-declared, non taxable, and if anybody asks he’s still flying for free, but it’s been a reasonable amount. He’s not had the time to look into the pay scale he should be expecting, factoring in the specifics of MJN, but he’s fairly certain that he ought not to be getting three hundred pounds a flight as basic pay. Especially when that’s left him with over a thousand pounds, in cash, for just one week. Some pilots do get paid extortionate amounts but they’re normally more experienced aircrew with thousands of hours of flight time. Realistically he could be looking at around thirty grand a year, for a large airline, but even that breaks down to less than what Carolyn’s suddenly started paying him. It’s not that he’d turn down four thousand pounds in one month but rather that he’s suspicious about it. Carolyn’s new cash flow seems a little excessive.

“Douglas? Can I ask you a personal question?”  
“Why yes, Martin, I do, in fact, also date men and I’d _love_ to have dinner with you.”  
“You would? Oh, I mean… you would?”  
“Did sir have something else in mind?”  
“God, yes. I mean- oh…”  
“Oh? Is sir not quite turned on by the idea of his somewhat overweight, older, greying, co-pilot perchance?”  
“What? No! I- you’re _solid_ , Douglas. Who wants a boyfriend with no meat on him? And anyway…”  
“Do go on.”  
“You’ve got cracking tits, alright? There. Fine, I’ve said it. Now can we get back to the- shit, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”  
“You did rather. Really though, my man cleavage is what you’re focusing your attention on?”  
“Well, who wouldn’t? You always want enough to get a mouthful so- I… I’m just going to stop talking now.”  
“Indeed. My buxom and Rubenesque figure aside, what was it you were asking?”  
“I, erm… I was going to ask how much Carolyn is paying you. But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to!”  
“Ah, the cold, hard, question of cash. Twenty-four grand a year. Hardly enough to keep me in oysters. I’m going to have to find myself a sugar daddy… or another pilot who just so happens to have four stripes on his epaulettes.”  
“Carolyn will kill you if you go after Herc.”  
“Herc? If that man wants another ride on this bike he’s got another thing coming. No, I actually had another captain in mind.”

That particular conversation is a memory that Martin isn’t quite sure if he’d like to bury entirely or revisit from time to time. Not that he can allow himself to be distracted by fantasies of Douglas’ body right now. Certainly, not without a few minutes to himself, a bit of privacy and a couple of tissues. The issue he’s focusing on is financial after all. All the new business seems to be bringing in a pretty decent revenue and, certainly, enough of it that Carolyn is happy to actually pay Martin to do nothing other than fly planes. Which means that perhaps she might even be feeling flush enough to invest in some new equipment. Like a new plane. Which is, finally, the answer that he’s been reaching for. A new plane. One of Airbus’ business jet range. Quite possibly the eighteen seater ACJ318. A plane with a glass cockpit and side-stick controls. He still standing, stock still, when the portacabin door opens.

“Why so glum, my flying monkeys? Monkey. Where’s Douglas? Late again I suppose.”  
“Carolyn… we need to talk.”  
“Goodness, breaking up with me already, Martin?”  
“No! I- no! Not that way!”  
“You silly boy. Was is it?”  
“Can we talk, in private?”  
“You really are going the right way to breaking a girl’s heart. Come on then. Into my office.”

Martin hears Arthur bounding up the steps just as he closes the door to Carolyn’s office behind him. Carolyn proceeds to take off her coat and organise her things, leaving Martin standing awkwardly at the door.

“Sit down. Don’t stand their gawping. Now, am I going to need a drink for this?”  
“Err… no?”

Carolyn finally seats herself behind her desk, opposite Martin, and folds her hands together on the table top.

“Well then, what can it possibly be if you’re not going to resign?”  
“About that, actually…”  
“Martin.”  
“Not, resign, resign.”  
“Martin, I hate to break it to you, and this is sounding far too much like a conversation I’d have with Arthur, but civil aviation is like chess. Either you resign or you don’t.”  
“Arthur plays chess?”  
“Herc’s trying to teach him. Less said about that the better. Now, are you or are you not resigning as captain of my airline?”  
“Yes. But not-“  
“You’re not resigning, resigning. Go on, explain.”  
“It’s… well… ah…”  
“Are _you_ going to need a drink for this conversation?”  
“It’s just that… that… I can’t, as a contentious captain, continue to... captain a plane like that!”  
“Like _what_ exactly? And choose your words carefully, young man. The old girl and I go back a long time.”  
“Not GERTI. She’s fine. She’s better than fine actually. God, she’s amazing! That’s what real engineering looks like. All those mechanical, interlocking, systems. She’s a beauty to fly, Carolyn. It’s been an honour to be her captain.”  
“Alright. Then what, exactly, is the problem?”  
“It’s just that I can’t- A captain has certain responsibilities, certain duties to the aircraft and crew. You need someone in charge who will make the right decision at the right time. Someone who won’t be paralysed by fear or shock if something does go wrong.”  
“Someone who has the common sense to pick up his flight manual.”  
“Yes, that too. But most of all you need someone who trusts that he, or she, can and will do what needs to be done. Someone who will stop, and take stock of the situation, but in a split-second, so that they can take the corrective action required. Someone who understands and believes in the mechanisms that make up the entire system. That’s why… why…”

He scrubs a hand across his eyes. Even though he knows it’s the right thing, even though there is nothing else that he can truly do, it still hurts. He’s enjoyed being captain. Who wouldn’t? He’s relished being the officer in command. It’s all been a wonderful experience and he’ll never regret it for an instant but, more than anything, it hurts to know that he has to do this, for the sake of everything that it means to be a captain, for the sake of integrity and honesty and goddamn it, pride, in everything he does. The tissue thrust under his nose comes as a surprise. He takes it and blows his nose loudly. There’s nothing else to do but get this over with, even if Carolyn is now perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at him in bemusement.

“I can’t, in all honesty, trust that I will make the right decisions, the necessary decisions, to keep both aircraft and crew safe. Which is why… why I can’t captain an Airbus or any other new build plane you choose to purchase. I will panic and be paranoid and I simply will not be able to make the right decisions within the necessary timeframe. I couldn’t live with myself if I remained captain, out of misplaced arrogance, rather than dedication to the safety and wellbeing of all on board.”  
“Oh, Martin…”  
“I wouldn’t leave or anything. I’d be happy to stay on as First Officer. Really, it wouldn’t be that bad. I’d get used to it. And Douglas would make a really good Captain. He’s not intimidated by those new systems. In fact, I think he rather likes them.”  
“You silly boy, what makes you think that _Douglas_ would make the better Captain?”  
“I know he would. And… and he’s the only captain I’d be prepared to serve under!”

There. He’s said it at last. Slowly, stammering, haltingly. Carolyn now has the terms of his resignation and continued employment. Somehow it doesn’t feel quite so bad having managed to get it all out. He won’t be a captain anymore but he’ll be a first officer. He’ll be Douglas’ first officer and that will be good enough. Maybe, he supposes, this is the way it was meant to work out after all. It was only a matter of time before Douglas got his captain’s stripes back. The thought warms him inside. It’s hard to understand why but the feeling is there. Captain Richardson. It sounds right. He’ll get used to being First Officer Crieff.

“When you are quite done mooning over your preferred, former Air England, captain.”  
“What? I wasn’t!”  
“Listen here, you silly boy, you are an airline captain. You are _my_ airline captain. And that is what you will be until such time as GERTI decides that she no longer wishes to fly. Do I make myself clear?”  
“Yes?”  
“And should that day come _I_ will invest in a replacement that meets the criteria of my captain. Do you understand?”  
“Oh.”  
“Yes ‘oh’. You are the senior airman here, not Douglas. You can do whatever you like with Douglas in your spare time but, when you are flying for me, you will both keep to the roles that you have been assigned to.”  
“Wait- what do you mean ‘in my spare time’? Douglas and I-“  
“I don’t want to hear it! Now, dry your eyes and get out there and file a flight plan.”

He exits Carolyn’s office in a mixture of confusion and relief. He’s still captain, he’s not going to be expected to fly an Airbus and, strangely, Carolyn seems to think that there’s something going on between him and Douglas. It’s the latter part of the equation that he’s left to ponder, when stepping into the other room reveals Douglas, leafing through the Airbus brochures.

“I’m not sure I’m terribly impressed with these ‘luxury’ cabins. They seem a little bit gaudy for my taste.”

Douglas holds the page out for Martin’s inspection.

“Possibly it’s the colour scheme. I’ve never been a big fan of beige.”  
“Douglas…”

A light touch on Douglas’ arm is all it takes from him to turn his attention from the photographs and instead to Martin.

“You’ve been crying. Oh God, what’s she said now? Never mind. Whatever it is I’ll-“  
“You don’t have to do anything.”  
“The Hell I don’t! Carolyn’s clearly said something to upset you and now I’m going to have words. Quiet words. I won’t shout. And then I’ll take you home.”

That’s all it takes and suddenly he’s crying again. Quietly, softly, with Douglas’ arms around him.

“They’ll never find the body.”  
“Oh, Douglas.”  
“What? You’re doubting my ability to commit a crime of that magnitude and then successfully hide the evidence? There are an alarming number of things I’m capable of-“  
“I know. It’s not- Carolyn didn’t upset me. It’s… I’ll tell you about it later.”

Martin can feel that Douglas lets him go reluctantly, as he steps back, to gain some distance and composure. It’s such a strange sensation to be struck by such a moment of absolute clarity. Maybe they’re always there, in the moments when he stops over thinking, and lets everything go. Maybe those moments of sudden silence when his emotions calm, for an instant, are exactly what he’s looking for. That moment of absolute clarity, when the alarms are sounding and the stick shaker is going into overdrive, and he knows, without hesitation, exactly what to do. He’s only ever felt like that once, outside an aircraft, in his childhood, when his mother had dragged him to some choral performance on a day out in Oxford. He hadn’t cared much for it until it had come to Schubert’s Ave Maria. He hadn’t known what it was at the time but he’d heard it again, many years later, and it still sent chills down his spine, even though it was part of an action film soundtrack. It’s in that moment of clarity, when all sense of self falls away, that he understand completely, automatically, what his next course of action must be.

“Martin?”  
“I was just wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight?”  
“We… usually have dinner together when we’re flying.”

Douglas sounds so hesitant that Martin can’t help laughing a little.

“A date, Douglas. I’m asking you to go on a date with me.”  
“Ah.”  
“Say ‘yes’?”  
“I think I can honestly say that I’ve been waiting to say ‘yes’ to that particular question for at least six months now.”  
“Really? Have you? Oh! I thought you meant-“  
“Yes. And yes, I had noticed that you thought I meant Herc.”  
“But you didn’t.”  
“But I didn’t.”  
“Well. Well, that’s good then.”  
“One would hope so.”  
“Because otherwise I’d have to steal your plan to hide the body.”

After the emotional toll of the rest of the morning, filing the correct paperwork is alarmingly simple. The fact that Douglas takes to pointing out design inconsistencies to Arthur, when Arthur comes bouncing back in, while Martin gets on with the work, doesn’t even bother him. They’ll be flying soon, in a little under an hour and then, ten hours later, after a bit of a cleanup and a nap, he has a date with the man he’s been fantasising about for quite some time now.

“Hello, chaps.”  
“Herc, what do you want?”  
“Douglas, I’m sorry to disappoint, but these flowers are for Carolyn. I take it she’s in her office?”

Martin bites back a smile as Herc heads past. He’s not entirely sure how he could have missed the vague hostility between the two of them before, and he’s fairly certain he ought not to be enjoying it, but he can’t help himself. Given the options he can’t really imagine why Douglas would choose him. Just the suggestion of that immediately starts to trouble him. Then he catches a snippet of something, a tune Herc’s humming under his breath, the familiar cadence of that same song from long ago and suddenly it doesn’t matter at all.

**Author's Note:**

> If GERTI’s controls aren’t fly-by-wire, with or without a mechanical backup, then she’d have to be a pre-70s build, which is entirely possible.
> 
> The production plant that produced the most spitfires during the war is now the Jaguar production site.
> 
> Schubert originally set the German translation of Walter Scott’s poem, _The Lady of the Lake_ , to music, and the famous “Ave Maria” was actually a song sung by the character of Ellen Douglas. The action film that uses a version as part of its soundtrack is _Hitman_.


End file.
